An Angel Called Eternity

The Field Rat's Banquet - Lykourgos I: On the Shoulders of Ancients

Lykourgos I: On the Shoulders of Ancients

The Twenty-Seventh day of the Eighth Moon, 872 AD.
The Horndaal, Southern Archic Mountains, Klironomea.

The first thing the prince noticed as he awoke was that today was far colder than the days that had preceded it. It was a frigid morning on the slopes of the Horndaal, dew still resting atop the grass and dawn's first light shining through the clouds in aureate hues. To be fair, when you were camped in an old ruin at the base of a mountain, every morning was frigid, but this seemed... different. He chuckled to himself. It seemed like some of Dreamwulf's teachings were rubbing off on him after all; his storm-sense was improving somewhat even if progress was glacially slow. Still, he didn't think such ill weather would roll in today. Autumn wasn't set to end the summer for at least another week, and so the autumn storms shouldn't start up yet either. He looked to the outskirts of the ruins they had camped in, and noticed a few of his company carefully dismantling the remains of the curtain wall, the damp, mossy stones being gently lowered and placed in neat rows behind them while they worked. There were twenty-four of them here in total, including Prince Lykourgos himself, but aside from him they were mostly made up of assorted servants; stable-boys, Farriers and Pages made up the majority of the company, though a few more interesting outliers could be found amongst them. There were half a dozen Squires in the makeshift retinue, each of them hand-picked by his friend, Ser Romanos, for their loyalty and forthcoming talent. They were certainly good, but none of them could best him in single combat, and that meant none of them could best Romanos either. They were exceptionally loyal to the Violets, but he knew they cared little for his task here, save for Eros Eleutherios. Eros was talented with a blade, singularly loyal to the prince and devoted to learning as much as he could about all the interpretations of the Church. He would definitely be speaking to Romanos about inviting him into the Order when they returned. Quietly, of course; it wouldn't be proper for a bastard to be interfering in the affairs of a Knightly Order of the Crown, even if said bastard was a Prince.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It would do him no good to contemplate his birth-status here, it only ever led to loathing and scheming. And yet the throne was his by right...
He turned his thoughts back to the members of his company, and for those he may find useful in the future. There was a Cupbearer in his employ; a nimble and sunny young lad with some small amount of noble blood, found by another friend of the prince, who had come across the boy roaming the streets as a pickpocket and beggar. This was his first time leaving the capital since his employ, and was a test of character for the young lad, not set by the prince, but by his old friend, Elikoidi. Elikoidi and the Prince had known each other since the prince was no older than ten winters, and in the last eight years they had become fast friends and firm allies. Sure, there was a bit of rivalry between them, and they appeared to despise each other in public, but it was friendly rivalry, and both of them had made the deliberate choice to avoid appearing as friends in court. After all, Elikoidi was well-connected and a good spymaster; any seeking to dispose of the half-breed Prince would surely attempt to employ him, and so the prince would learn of the conspirators. He knew that Elikoidi would have chosen this young lad as the Prince's Cupbearer as a test of loyalty and confidence. If the young Cupbearer, Ilias, performed his duties well and could give a detailed list of the characteristics of a few of the men in the group then he would do quite well indeed, though he may keep him as his Cupbearer regardless of the outcome. He was kindly and cheerful, that much was certain, but quiet unless invited to speak freely. He had a way of moving and speaking that was disarming to most, and downright distracting to those who preferred the company of their fellow man.

His gaze drifted to the embers of the campfire, and the figures tending to the camp chores around it. There were a pair of religious figures, one an Oblate of a monastery worshiping the Carpenter's Son and the Angel Hydran named Dreamwulf, a stout member of the Old Church if ever there was one. Almost every hour of the day, he could be found debating theology, rites and scriptures with the other religious figure, a Presbyter of the New Church, Nasos. Nasos, much like Dreamwulf, was a devout follower of the Church of the Carpenter's Son, though that was where their similarities ended. He was the fourth son of a minor Noble, whereas Dreamwulf was the second son of an old farmer. Dreamwulf had found faith after the Black Grave had taken his family from him, and he still bore the scars both physical and mental from the toll the disease took. By contrast, Nasos had always been herded towards life in the Clergy of the New Church, and so had never considered alternate views on the faith. Lykourgos had worried that the two of them would come into conflict over their opposing views, however the discussions of their differences only served to enlighten each other as to why they believed in their interpretation of the Holy Edicts.